How many words do you use a day?

How many words on an average do you use in your daily conversation and discourse. Not quite sure? Dr Karel Muncik of the Czech Republic claims he could tell you. The Czech researcher carried out detailed investigations into the comparative volumes of verbiage which people of different ages and professions use.

Dr Muncik’s statistics make a mockery of that old adage about good children being seen and not heard. Kids, six to 10 years old, good, bad or indifferent, apparently make themselves heard to the tune of an average of 14,100 words a day. But by the time these children reach their turbulent teens, their daily verbal output drops to a mere 8,760 daily. This is not really surprising. Most of the teenagers I’ve met have been too busy swooning over pop idols, broadening the generation gap or suffering the pangs of adolescent angst and acne, to spend much time talking. And even when they do talk, their sole conversational contribution seems to consist of the word ‘kewl’, in all its 27 modulations and with generally at least three exclamation marks appended.

But when and if a teenager becomes a teacher, he or she will be using something in the region of 15,200 words a day – not all that much more than a waiter or waitress who has to use about 12,900. Which might provide food for thought.

A shop assistant is expected to use about 12,600 words every day and a policeman 10,660. A soldier has to make do with 7,800. Priests utilise about 3,420 and monks in secluded monasteries get by with a mere 860. Women, according to Dr Muncik’s findings, talk more than men. But not all that much more. For, whereas a businessman may have recourse to 11,580 words a day, his wife could do fairly comfortably with only a little more – 12,620 to be exact. Dr Muncik, however, did record the case of “one woman who spoke on an average 20,000 words a day.” His mom-in-law.

Dr Muncik is said to have interviewed hundreds of people for his survey. We should have something similar done in India. But what would the modus operandi be? If you went up to, for example, a busy executive or a harried housewife, and said, “Excuse me, I’m doing a survey on how much hot air people expend so would you mind telling me, approximately, give or take a few hundred, how many words you use in a day?” the reply would probably be short, not-so-sweet and negative. People love to talk. But they normally like others to talk about how much they talk.

For instance, a politician on election eve might tally up a verbal score which would give Demosthenes laryngitis. Yet the same individual, once duly elected, is only too apt not only to lie low and say and do nothing, but also to disclaim a lot of things which he or she said earlier, before the ballot boxes were full.

Or take a young actor, a would-be film star. At the beginning of his career, when his face is at best only a potential fortune, the man talks almost incessantly. You can’t stop him talking. He talks to producers and directors and film journalists and photographers. He even talks to himself, in the mirror, practising his elocution exercises. Then the big day dawns and suddenly he’s a Name. Then he doesn’t want to talk anymore, to anyone, especially to people from the income-tax department. Where first he was prepared to expound at any time, on anything, from the Influence of Mass Media to the Sanctity of Indian Motherhood, and prepared to buy expensive lunches for press reporters while he did so, he now makes rude noises when asked for an interview. He won’t even talk to himself in the mirror any more, because now each line of his dialogue works out at Rs 2,323.57 and he’s not giving anything away for free – not even to himself. After all, good business management begins at home. Then he has five flops. In succession. And all of a sudden he becomes talkative again. Positively garrulous. He’ll talk to everyone, even you and me. He’ll even talk when there is nobody around, not even a mirror. Just to keep in practice.

It’s very difficult to work out exactly how much an individual talks. Except in my case. I use exactly 765 words a day. The moment I try to use one extra word, colleagues and/or family members keep me gagged till the next day dawns.

jug.suraiya@timesgroup.com

DISCLAIMER : Views expressed above are the author's own.

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A former associate editor with the Times of India, Jug Suraiya writes two regular columns for the print edition, Jugular Vein, which appears every Friday, and Second Opinion, which appears on Wednesdays. He also writes the script for three cartoon strips. Two are in collaboration with Ajit Ninan, Like That Only which appears twice a week on Wednesday and Saturday and Power Point which appears on the Edit page of Times of India every Thursday. He also does a joint daily cartoon strip which appears online in collaboration with Partho Sengupta. His blog takes a contrarian view of topical and timeless issues, political, social, economic and speculative.

A former associate editor with the Times of India, Jug Suraiya writes two regular columns for the print edition, Jugular Vein, which appears every Friday, a. . .